“To respect the dignity of a relationship also implies accepting the end when it comes. Except in my mind, except in my dreams, where the aftertaste of her still lingers.” ― André P. Brink, Before I Forget
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Nothing sits up high with the clouds for too long, eventually, everything heads on a down-whirl spiral. The trick comes from the effort of managing the decline, the ability to balance between the peak and down-fall. That, becomes the foundation of stability. I used to fear the thought of stability, the idea of permanent, but I so-badly craved for normality. My problem was, I couldn't have normality without stability. I never knew this, but once stability fell into my lap I also fell into the sudden realization that my fear of stability was stopping me from a life of normality. I was scared of stability because I never had it. I mean, I still am, but I'm trying very hard to adjust. Even though I was held prisoner by my despair, I was so used to being inspired by the darkness that I developed a hate-love relationship. I wanted nothing more than to soak in my agony, but when I soaked, I complained. My pain has brought me many great things, of course, at the time I was oblivious, but now that I live without the burden I truly miss it. It has brought great value and sensitivity into my life. I miss writing in a dark room with nothing but a glass of wine, a head full of thoughts, and seeing the sun creeping through the blinds before I fell asleep--only to wake up to the sun down.
Monday, March 11, 2013
I had awaked in the morning alongside a strange woman whom I didn’t feel the slightest bit of emotional attachment towards. That’s the way it was for me, the routine of no permanency or stability. I had this aching void of emptiness which sex compensated for. I couldn’t sleep on most night, so I sought out for company. I didn’t want someone to love or understand me; I just wanted someone to pass the time with. I gave up on trying to find someone to understand me, because it seemed impossible. Many women that pass through my life often claim they had fallen in love with me, but we all know that is not true-they just fell in love with the idea of me-the potential-the mystery. I was a lone wolf traveling through the musty woods, enjoying the feeling of not belonging to a pact, enjoying the quietness, aloneness, and openness. I was a sadist, a masochist, and a melodramatic narcissist. To be happy was to be opposite of what I am, to be happy meant effort and exhaustion. I wanted simple, I craved solitude, and to be alone was to be at peace. It wasn’t always this way, my story wasn’t always a lonely and sad road, once upon of time I was in tune with my emotions and I was once able to feel. I trusted the wrong people, now trust is a luxury I cannot afford. I was once happy and carefree but I had lost everything I had ever once loved.
I lived an amazing life, but somehow I can’t overcome the overwhelming wave of sadness that drowns me in an ocean of despair. I have traveled to places many people only dream of visiting, I have met extraordinary people, and I have slept with many beautiful women. But still, I remain unsatisfied with life-disconnected. I prefer to be left alone and deal with the pain. My past follows me everywhere I go, like a dark cloud hovering over my head blocking the sunshine. I can’t seem to run away from it no matter how good things in my life may seem.
So many people worked jobs they hated, did things they hated. That’s why I chose to write and occasionally do drugs, to avoid heading down that path. If you compare the two choices of lifestyle, neither one is right nor better, I just preferred it my way. I would occasionally force myself to social events just so that I can appear as not strange, I had many acquaintances who claimed me to be a friend but I saw them as nothing but a familiar face because loyalty is a quality I don’t see in many. There are only a few people I can call a friend. I don’t get enjoyment from much; the only thing that excites me is a new episode of my favorite TV show or a full bottle of wine with a mind full of potential writing. I was a boring character with wild thoughts. I was insane in my own way, and solitude was therapy to my craziness. Normality was a far-fetched dream that I secretly desired, but that desire turned into ashes once I had a realization that it couldn’t be done due to the traumatic past that led me to become what I am.
I have nightmares that stop me from getting a good night sleep, I sleep at the oddest hours-after I had drunken my morning coffee-and only to be disturbed by the night terrors roughly three to four times a sleep session. I became restless, a walking zombie, the numbness granted me a sense of sensitivity that no other had. I saw the world colorless. So people ask me why I can’t sleep, and for the most part, it’s because I don’t want to. It’s a constant battle that I’d much rather avoid. I sleep from exhaustion, not from the willingness to part ways with reality.
And just when I had lost all hope for any sort of connection in my life, I came across someone. Not just anyone, but that one. The one we all dream of meeting, the one we live to find. My soul mate, my undying light to my darkened caved soul. It was like a dream, it felt rushed and un-real, even impossible. She became my beacon of light, my inspiration to write. I never felt what it was like to want to be next to someone all the time, to love someone despite his or her quirks, and flaws. The ability to paint a picture of the future with someone by you is something I could not do, and to be able to do this now is a huge accomplishment. At first adjusting to a life of normality came to be quite difficult, but after settling in and breaking routine it became quite logical that this habit of self destruction wasn’t half of how good it felt to be loved and to love. The decision I made to give-in and love someone through the insecurities made me a warmer person, the coldness started to disappear and the echoes off the walls of an empty soul became ears that listened. I could sense myself becoming an entirely different person; I could express myself freely without fear of judgment. I felt loved unconditionally. I felt my scars fading as she was healing it with her kisses. It’s like she lives in me, so wherever this life will lead us, whether together or drift apart, I will always wake up feeling her. This kind of love is far from physical, but emotional. From this I had discovered that I did in fact have emotions left, they were just locked away and she rediscovered the hidden chest, and forever I will be thankful for that. I had encountered and been with so many women that I didn’t desire physical attraction; I’m comfortable with just being with her and not ever having sex, because I have done it all and all I want now is to love.
"You want me not to see anybody else just say the word, but if you keep me at arms length what am I supposed to do? Just sit around with cock cage on and hope that you're going to have some sort of epiphany about us?"
"You honestly think I care about you fucking someone else? If we're not together I don't expect you to have taken some vow of celibacy. It's just, when I see someone else look at you, the way I used to look at you; I hate it. It makes me sick to my stomach."